The flight had been delayed and delayed and delayed again, so I let my six-year-old find our seats. She was in charge now, counting to row 11, distracting her from continuing her sleepy complaining.
She popped into the window seat, I nestled in beside her, watching my husband and son make their way to the very back of the plane.
My daughter and I cracked open our books, happy to be so close to getting home.
A young man approached, snapped up the aisle seat, and nodded at me. I nodded back, busying myself with my book again.
“How are you?”
“Good thanks.” No eye contact–I’m not about to make a new friend.
“Headed home?”
“Yep.” Still no eye contact. Dude, take a hint. I am clean, quiet, and my kid is a great flyer. Please leave us be and take a nap.
“You live in New Jersey?”
“Mm-hm.” Seriously, TAKE A HINT.
“What town?”
I put my book down and looked at him, forcing an apologetic smile on my face. “Oh, I don’t tell strangers where I live.”
He bristled, his face falling from friendly to offended. “What do you mean?”
My right hand instinctively reached out across my daughter’s lap, and I turned to this inquisitive stranger, blocking her with my body. “I mean, I don’t tell complete strangers where I live.” My voice was calm but final. My body language told him that I wouldn’t budge.
Through pursed lips, he mumbled “Whatever…” but his eyes said, “You don’t have to be such a bitch.”
I went back to my book, feeling him still looking at me. He blurted out, “Really??!”
I turned back and gave him the look I’d give a child who is confirming that he cannot, in fact, have a bowl of candy before bedtime. “Yes, really.”
He huffed and shook his head at me, finally turning away.
I felt his heated aggravation that I wouldn’t comply with his request in the blush of my own neck, but refused to give in.
How many times have we heard women say “I didn’t want to seem rude” when a man tried to talk to her, asked her to do something for him she didn’t want to, and ended up getting hurt by him in some way?
How often are innocents victimized by people who push and push boundaries until their intended feels like it’d be bad manners to push back?
I would rather be seen as bitchy or poorly-mannered than allow someone into my comfort zone, allow someone to cross my firm boundaries, ignore that gut feeling that tells me Stick with this decision, Kim.
Who was this man, pushing a woman alone with her child to share what she didn’t want to? Was he just ignorant to social graces, or was he a dangerous guy? I didn’t really care, because my response would be the same either way.
I was ready to sit 2 inches away from a man I refused to share personal information with as we hurtled through the bumpy air for the next three hours, no matter how awkward it may have become. It was my decision not to be bullied into sharing what I didn’t want to share, and I was comfortable with it.
As luck would have it, I didn’t have to. My daughter miscounted, and we had to move one row forward, away from the curious stranger, away from the discomfort of rejection.
Once settled in our new seats, I smiled at the new stranger beside us as he respected my personal space and kept to himself, all the way home.
Have you ever shared more than you wanted to, because it felt rude not to?
What would you have done in my situation?
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This was originally published on InThePowderRoom.
I believe the only change I would have made would have been to add an f-bomb to my dialogue. For some reason, “Yes, really” is much more plausible when delivered with a nice swear word or two thrown in.